


No Stars in the City

by FlyDizzeeD



Series: Head Under Water [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aaron gets jumped, Gen, Trans Aaron Burr, Violence, Well Thomas tries to help, thomas helps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-15 14:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12322695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyDizzeeD/pseuds/FlyDizzeeD
Summary: Aaron walks home and Thomas helps.





	1. Chapter 1

Did it really count as being “jumped” if he fully expected it to happen at some point?

Sure, he didn't expect to have his head grabbed and slammed against a lamp post. He figured they would have had something to say first. But night time was predictable, and so was the location. The side street behind his dormitory was usually empty past midnight aside from the occasional student stumbling to their dorm, drunk or exhausted from working a closing shift. The feeling of spit hitting his face was mostly just disgusting. He didn't have the chance to voice that before a solid punch to his stomach knocked the wind right out of him. His first attempt to breathe again was useless, second was pathetic, and third was interrupted by another punch. That one was to the left of the first and Aaron knew that particular spot usually meant a bruised rib. It also meant the smallest one (the redhead?) was the one doing the punching. His swing always veered left. Vaguely aware that he should be fighting back, Aaron struck out with both arms in an attempt to shove him away. He was successful enough but the reaction earned him a backhanded slap from the other one. The third caught his arms and held them behind his back.

Heart pounding and head throbbing from the lamp post, he struggled and kicked and even snapped at whoever came close enough. It was all starting to feel like a routine. Next they would-- Yeah. Shoved to the ground, head hitting the concrete, a knee pressing into his spine. Usually the smallest one did that, but the change of pace meant there was even more weight pushing that knee down. With his chest pressed so hard to the ground it was still difficult to get proper air into his lungs. Aaron's vision was blurring a bit. He wasn't really sure which one of them was talking to him, only that they were giving off the usual threats. 

“Don't tell a soul and we won't either.”

He wouldn't. They knew that. Aaron was easy for them. He did whatever it took to keep his name clean-- to keep himself safe. Money. Beatings when the desire arose. Class assignments and other tasks. He wanted nothing more than to keep out of trouble. So he nodded along the best he could in his position and tried not to scream when the person holding him down shifted and leaned more into it. Ending up with more than a bruised rib meant a trip to the hospital, and Aaron did not need that. Without hesitation he resorted to begging. Gasping pleads and strained apologies for absolutely nothing. When he felt the knee move and could tell he wasn't being held down anymore, he rolled over onto his back and took rushed breaths of air. With his eyes to the sky, he couldn't really find it beautiful. No stars in the city, no moon on a cloudy night, only the fluorescent glow of the street lamp and the leering faces of his assailants. Then there were two hands reaching down, grabbing him, hauling him back to his feet. He didn't notice until it was too late that one of them circled behind him. His right arm was grabbed, yanked around, held at an awful angle, and slowly forced by the elbow in the wrong direction. He didn't try to stop that scream. 

Fight or flight struck and it was a mix of both that his head seemed to choose. The redhead (Samuel he thinks) was talking but his words were nonsense to Aaron, who started thrashing violently to get away from the person about to snap his arm. A wild backwards kick made them lose their grip but they quickly reached out again and got his sleeve while the third caught him by the shirt collar. He managed to land a sharp blow to the third’s jaw. The pain shooting through his hand had him quickly regretting the move, but it did have them falling down. Except they were still holding Aaron's shirt, so he went down, too. There was a brief struggle between the two with Aaron on top and getting in a few hits before the other took advantage of his hold on his shirt collar. They tightened their grip, yanked down, and pulled to the side. For the second time, Aaron's head smacked against the concrete. By then the others dove into the mess and were yanking at him, one nailing his side with a kick. 

Aaron's vision went black. 

And by the time it wasn't anymore, the three were off of him and walking away as though nothing had happened. His face felt wet. Tears from his eyes and blood from his nose, which he hoped to God wasn't broken. A glance down at himself found that his shirt was ripped where the right sleeve was attached and a bit down that side from the yanking. The collar was stretched. His ribs hurt, his head hurt, his arm hurt. A lot of shit just really hurt. Groaning, Aaron tried his best to sit up. He managed it by propping himself against the lamp post and didn't really notice the sound of someone approaching. His ears were still ringing from when his head hit the concrete. It took the newcomer grabbing him by the shoulder for him to at least partially come to his senses enough to struggle once more.

“Hey. Hey! Calm down, I'm just-- holy shit that's a lot of blood. Okay, just, just calm down I'm gonna call 911 and--”

“Please don't.” The way Aaron cut them off was a clear plead, edging towards desperate. He couldn't afford a hospital trip. Couldn't cope with the prodding and the questions. He avoided making eye contact with them and instead focused on his feet. One of his shoes had come off during the fight and left just his sock on that foot. His vision was blurry still from tears he hadn't yet blinked away, and he felt exhausted. When the stranger spoke again, it startled him out of his own wandering mind and was a harsh reminder someone else was seeing him in such a terrible state. Shaking, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked to the person talking, crouched just in front of him. “Is it okay if I touch you? Your nose, I mean. To see if it's broken. Fuck man, you do not look good. Who did you have to piss off to end up like this?” They asked, hands already poised to inspect his nose.

Not quite up for banter, Aaron just nodded.

“Alright, just hold still and feel free to punch me if it hurts.” They cautiously took hold of his nose and squeezed along the bridge lightly, feeling for any breaks. Unable to stop it, but pissed with himself about it anyway, Aaron whined and choked on a sob. Immediately the hands left his face. “Sorry. I don't think it's broken, though. Close as hell to it.” They seemed to realize something and their overly concerned look slid into what looked like a rehearsed grin, sleazy but somewhat diplomatic. Arrogant to high hell, too. “I'm Thomas, by the way. And you are?” Taken aback and relatively confused by the man's sudden change in demeanor, Aaron was at once suspicious. Rather than answer him, he uncrossed his arms and grabbed onto the lamp post, pulling himself to his feet. He wobbled there and his head spun, flooding with the same feeling of nausea he had before he blacked out earlier. Thomas lost the grin and stood up as well, moving to steady Aaron, who flinched back and crossed his arms again, glaring.

“Don't touch me.”

“Said I could earlier.”

“I had a concussion.”

Thomas raised a brow. “And that's implying you don't still have a concussion?”

“Goodbye.” And with that, Aaron turned to walk in the direction he had been earlier. One, two, three stumbling steps before he felt himself quickly heading back down to the pavement and landing on his ass. “Okay,” he said, “I might still have a concussion.”

Then he was being lifted up, set back on his feet, and an arm was snaked around his middle to support him. 

“I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

Adrenaline rushing and fueling in the midst of an emergency could be viewed in a few ways.

The initial reaction is that of power. There are stories abound of people lifting cars or rubble to save others because that extra chemical kick allowed them to do so. It made things hurt less in the moment so they could focus on succeeding or escaping. Lifting a car causes massive trauma to the muscles of your body and can ruin tendons. Adrenaline masked the pain. Temporarily. Temporarily, adrenaline gives you frantic energy. It makes your actions messier and interferes with your rational thought process. Risk vs. reward takes a backseat in favor of immediate action. But the rush of adrenaline was forward, fast, and faded rapidly. When all was said and done, you were still hurt. He was still hurt. And the absence of that miracle hormone left an empty spot filled with exhaustion and his body's desperate need to rest and recover. Aaron justified his willingness to accept Thomas's help with the aforementioned ramblings.

That wasn't to say Aaron was an outright mean spirited fellow. He was fun at parties at the very least; a gifted public speaker and charming to the ladies. But there was a difference between that and relying on a stranger to help get you home when you're at your most vulnerable. He was hyper aware of everywhere they touched and even more aware of the large tear in his shirt. It left him feeling practically naked, or like he had an open wound. Something to be taken advantage of and used against him. Thomas hadn't mentioned it, though, so maybe he was lucky.

“You're awfully quiet. Are you in shock? Because I can still call--”

“No. I'm fine.” He wasn't. The lie had him cringing. “My dorm is just in there. I can walk myself up.” Aaron insisted as they neared the doors to the dormitory, attempting to lean away from Thomas and squirm out of the man's grip.

“You're barely managing on flat ground. Now how exactly are you supposed to be walking up stairs?” Thomas asked, voice pitching even higher with his rhetorical collection. He wouldn't ever say it, felt bad for just thinking it, but Aaron was rather happy with his own smooth voice when he heard Thomas's more musical tone. His speech therapy wasn't so much a waste of money it seemed. When Aaron didn't offer a rebuttal, Thomas supplied a self-assured, “Uh-huh. That's what I thought.” And really, did he have to be so insufferable while attempting to also be some sort of good samaritan? Still Aaron couldn't muster any real distaste for him beyond a general annoyance. He was still helping him after all, and most people around wouldn't have been so kind. Sighing, Aaron gave in and nodded, gesturing to the building in front of them. “Fourth floor.” He said, grimacing at the thought alone of walking up all those stairs while still being as utterly fucked up as he was.

“Okay, no, forget that,” Thomas said, “My place is on the first. You can stay on the couch.”

“I'd really rather go to my dorm.”

“So you can pass out halfway there?” And damn, Thomas had him again. He was already straining with his bruised ribs and his head was still on fire.

“This, um,” Aaron hesitated, swallowed, continued, “You aren't trying anything with me, right?”

“Trying-- What? No! Fuck’s sake. Just wanna help a brother out is all. Is that-- whoever beat you up... did they--”

Aaron cut him off, a tad vehemently. “No.”

“Sorry for asking.”

They stopped talking after that.

It wasn't until they were standing outside Thomas's dorm while he fumbled with the keys that one of them spoke, and it was just Thomas apologizing again. And again. And again. Then he got the key in, the door opened, and he seemed better. Aaron wasn't surprised to find that his dorm was pretty much the same as every other dorm there. Small room. Two beds. Two desks. Not much else. It was obvious that more than one person lived there, but both beds were empty. Aaron didn't really care enough to ask. He followed Thomas in and winced when the lights were flicked on, the light quickly making his headache worse. Thomas dished out another apology and then a different one for the state of the room. All of the apologizing was getting a bit tedious, but Aaron would have been a hypocrite to say anything about it considering his own anxiety issues (though his didn't seem as persistent as his host's). Instead of letting the cycle of apologies continue on, he carefully tried to push them back onto a different subject. “Anyway I could get the blood off my face?” He asked, his non-committal tone casually juxtaposed to the typically more somber topic of his question.

“Shit, yeah, no problem. I got just the thing.” Thomas said, and a creeping shadow of that grin he had only briefly flashed earlier was pulling at the edges of his mouth. It was admittedly a goofy look, but still left Aaron with a nauseous feeling.

While Thomas turned to search through the contents of his desk, Aaron looked down at himself to get an idea of the damage done to his shirt. It certainly wasn't salvageable, but his main concern was what it left showing (the precise thing he had taken a beating to keep covered up). His shirt was black, though, and so was his binder, so maybe it wouldn't be that noticeable. Besides, guys wore tank tops all the time. Admittedly, Aaron felt like he was stressing himself just a bit too much. It would be fine. He kept repeating that sentiment in his head as Thomas came back and held out a package of wet wipes to him. Taking the package with an appreciative nod and thanks, Aaron set to wiping the dried blood from his nose. His host once again turned back to look through his things, but this time he spoke as he did so.

“I've got a spare blanket and pillow, so you can have those. Madi probably won't be back until tomorrow, but I don't want to risk him coming back to you taking his bed, y’know?” Thomas said as he pulled out the blanket and pillow. “Not that Madi would do anything but get annoyed and passive aggressive. Boy's gotta talent for making me know he's pissed in the most subtle of ways.”

“I'm fine on the floor.” Aaron said, nodding and quickly regretting the action as he felt that growing throbbing behind his eyes. He threw his wipes away in the trashcan next to the desk and twitched his nose. He'd gotten rid of enough of the blood to get some sleep at least.

He took the bedding from Thomas with another thanks and set up his spot in the very middle between the two beds, where he figured he was least likely to be stepped on by anybody getting in or out of a bed. Thomas himself seemed pretty set on ending the busy night as well, already reaching over to turn the light off after having taken off his shirt during the time Aaron was setting up camp. “You good?” Thomas asked him, finger about to flip the switch. He nodded again, clearly having not learned his lesson. When the lights turned off, though, he was provided at least some relief. An overdue yawn accompanied the long stretch he took just before laying down. 

His fucking ribs hurt.

He doubted they were fractured, but that didn't stop them from hurting. Thomas hadn’t offered any pain meds, so he assumed the man probably didn't have any. Aaron was also well aware that he really needed to take off his binder before he went to sleep. It always gave him a bad back, and would no doubt be far worse in his post-beating state. But, with his adrenaline long gone, he had to weigh risk vs. reward, and in the end risk won. Thomas had been plenty nice to him, but he had no idea how far that friendliness extended. With such a large man, he didn't really want to figure out. The binder was staying on, and he'd sure as hell regret it in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So are y'all liking this? Idk man I'm just writin'. Feel free to say things you'd like to see or talk about things that you liked in the comment section. And thanks for reading 
> 
>  
> 
> Remember to come talk to me on tumblr! Requests and prompts are open.  
> fddwrites.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

There were many foul ways to be woken up in the morning. Water dumped on you, shaving cream, fire alarm, the list goes on. But for Aaron, a foot curiously jabbing him in the ribs was probably the worst of all. He woke up in an instant, eyes flying open as he yelped like a kicked dog. Quickly he scooted in the opposite direction of the offending foot, pressing himself against Thomas's bed frame. His senses were coming back to him slowly, vision still blurred from sleep and his ears ringing. He was most aware of the sharp pain present in his ribs and head, a vicious reminder of just how screwed he really was. He still managed a glare as he blinked rapidly to clear his vision and focus on whoever had jabbed his ribs. The ringing was a bit quieter and eventually he was back to himself enough to be aware of the hand on his shoulder, seemingly attempting to soothe him in the way it was rubbing there. Aaron tensed up but didn't make a move to get rid of the hand. There were people speaking and he really needed to calm the hell down and listen. A few slow, deliberate breaths had him feeling at least a little bit calmer.

 

“Is that a person?” He didn't recognize that voice, and when he focused, he didn't recognize the face either.

 

“Oh, c’mon, you're not that blind. His name is…” And that was Thomas, from behind him. “Shit. Uh, what's your name man?”

 

“Aaron Burr.” He said quietly, still hesitant about the whole situation.

 

“His name is Aaron.”

 

“I'm blind, Thomas, not deaf.”

 

And Thomas laughed at that, so this had to be at least a slightly common occurrence. “Sorry, Madi.” He said. “But he got beat real bad last night and needed some help.” Thomas apparently had it in him to sound relatively somber when he said it, and the little bit that Aaron had relaxed was out the window when he tensed up all over again at the mention of his beating. He turned his attention to the pile of course literature sitting on one of the desks. Philosophical text, it looked like, with some of the governmental study books he was familiar with through his own academics. At least he had gotten beat up at a convenient time. He didn't have any classes that day, so he could just lay around his dorm and feel sorry for himself. Or clean. His desk could use some reorganizing and he hadn't vacuumed in weeks. It's not like he ever had anyone over, but he liked to keep things tidy anyway. Living alone because the student housing committee hadn't been able to figure out who to pair him with meant he did all the cleaning himself. It also meant he could be as sad as he wanted during his recovery, so that was a plus. 

 

Having wandered off a bit in his own thoughts, it took a minute for Aaron to register that there were now two hands on him (one on each shoulder) and that he was being shaken lightly. Eventually he snapped out of it and tilted his head back, looking up at Thomas. He blinked down at him before breaking into that smile again. “Welcome back to planet Earth.”

 

Really, this was all a lot. Maybe a bit too much. Aaron looked back to the other man, Madi, he thought, and apologized. “I'll be going now. Thank you, Thomas, for the help. I'm sorry if I intruded or anything. That was never my intention.” He said as he went to stand up. All at once was he was reminded once again of just how badly his fucking ribs hurt. The pain shot through his chest like lightning and he imagined it was at least slightly similar to what being hit by a bus might feel like, more or less. He really needed to get home, get his binder off, and take some damn pain reliever. Unfortunately, his rescuer seemed to suck at social cues. “What? Nah, brother, you're fine! Madi doesn't mind, right Madi?” Thomas insisted.

 

“I don't care.”

 

“See? Ain't even a thing. You got any classes today, Aiden?”

 

“Aaron.” Said Madi.

 

“Aaron?” Thomas corrected himself, still smiling. But lots of boys had smiled at Aaron before, and lots of boys had hurt him all the same. Even the pretty ones, the charming ones like Thomas seemed to think himself to be. So it was all being taken with the utmost hesitance from Aaron who, in spite of his wanting to escape, also knew he had to be looking out for the image of himself he so carefully guarded. Thomas knew him now, and if he was studying in a field at all similar to Aaron's (which the books suggested) that meant he could be at least somewhat important in the long run. Not one to take very many chances, he knew he had to be civil. He touched his chest, his wrist, breathed out, and relaxed his shoulders. His own smile was quickly in place to rival Thomas's and he made sure to sound as cordial as possible when he suggested, mildly, that Thomas should let him buy him breakfast before he left, as a thank you for all of his help. It wouldn't have been the first time he was out and about with a fucked up face anyway.

 

Graciously, and it seemed he must have been brought up that way, Thomas accepted the offer. A weak attempt at insisting he should pay his own way was made, but Thomas must have known the game, because he offered no further protests when Aaron insisted. Rather, he ventured to invite Madi along with them. “I have class. Still trying to get that damn trig credit...” Madi said, voice trailing off into a discontented grumble towards the end of the explanation. Thomas hummed and patted him on the back, nodding his understanding even though Madi wasn't able to see it. “So,” he started, looking back to Aaron, “where to?”

  
  


—

  
  


“Wow. Nope, I don't think I can have you pay for me without having a guilty conscience. This is fine dining. The stuff of kings.”

 

Aaron slowly looked from Thomas to the Waffle House sign, and then back to Thomas again. After a few moments he was finally recovered enough to speak. “You aren't serious.” The statement was more of a question. A plea.

 

“It's Waffle House, boy, no I'm not serious. Shit's good though; nice pick.” He said, moving towards the door. He held it open for Aaron, who gave a slightly indignant thanks and headed for an empty table at the front of the place, in the corner and next to the window. There wasn't anything interesting to look at, but it was better than staring at a wall. Rather, Thomas immediately launched in on talking as soon as he sat down. The man wasn't exactly enthusiastic or manic about it, but he still never shut up. He seemed to be talking for his own benefit anyway, as he rarely asked anything of Aaron and didn't really acknowledge the answers he was given when he did. It was fascinating. Usually Aaron hated when people prattled on, but (though he was still annoyed) he was somewhat entertained by the way Thomas dove into the things he cared about and deemed worthy to share with a relative stranger. His books, mainly. Things he had read and things he planned to read. His closet was full, his desk was full, and he had more at home (though he didn't say where 'home’ was). 

 

Philosophy. Latin. Government, and some medical books he mostly used to figure out what was wrong with Madi at a given point in time. He didn't seem to trust the internet when it came to most research, but he did have e-books anyway. Aaron relaxed and drank his coffee, grateful for it. He'd managed some sleep last night, but it hadn't been very pleasant and it certainly hadn't been enough. He ordered French toast and Thomas took a break from his rambling to order eggs and grits with cheese. His talking was more relaxed after that and eventually petered out into silence that was minutely disrupted by the occasional stir of a spoon in a mug of coffee or someone clearing their throat. It wasn't too long before Thomas spoke up again.

 

“So like, I get it if you don't wanna talk about it, or if you don't even know, but why did you get beat up last night?” He asked, not looking at Aaron directly.

 

Aaron tensed up again and didn't try to offer any eye contact either. He was quiet for a while, deliberate in it as he thought about what exactly was the right thing to say. Morally, that would have been the truth. But morals couldn't stop someone over six feet tall from beating you worse or ruining your not even begun career. 

 

“I guess they just don't like me.” He said, but his voice didn't sound like to belonged to him. He didn't feel like was speaking. It was like he was hearing someone else say it, just next to him, speaking right in his ear. The response was weak and the smile he flashed was even more so. Thankfully, Thomas decided that was all that needed to be said on the topic and awkwardly launched back into talking about Greek and Roman philosophy, particularly about why a comparison of the two wasn't flattering for either side. Aaron was beyond grateful for the change in subject away from himself. He always sought to avoid conversations about himself as much as possible, and Thomas's self-righteousness was proving to be a valuable aid to that particular pursuit.

  
  


—

  
  


The food had been good and some points of Thomas's ramblings were rather interesting, truth be told. Nonetheless, paying the bill and walking out the front door had lifted a considerable weight from Aaron's shoulders. Soon he'd be done with all of it and he'd probably never think of Thomas again. As it should be. Once outside of the diner, he smiled and held our his hand for Thomas to shake. “Thank you for--” He began, but was cut off by Thomas grabbing his hand and pulling him in for a quick hug. Then the man stepped back and his smile seemed… different. It was somehow less unsettling than before. 

 

“Anytime.” He managed to sound serious about it. Like it was a promise, and Aaron didn't really know how to breathe, but he could certainly still think.

 

_ Fuck. _

**Author's Note:**

> Interested in more? Comment below or leave requests/prompts on my tumblr fddwrites.tumblr.com


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